Hugh Corbett 11 - The Demon Archer by Paul Doherty Read Free Book Online

a gift for horses. He had been murdered in a filthy alleyway in Oxford and his body now lay under the flagstones of the manor chapel at Leighton.
    ‘I really miss him,’ Ranulf said again. ‘I am glad I killed his murderer. I hope his soul rots in hell!’
    He strode away, as he always did, to hide the tears.
    Corbett wandered round the palace greeting acquaintances, being stopped now and again by other clerks who shook his hand to welcome him back. He went into the buttery and persuaded a cook to provide bread, cheese and a small pot of ale. He sat quietly and ate, watching the hour candle fixed on its iron spigot near the door; when it was about to reach the tenth red circle, Corbett went down to the main gateway where Ranulf was already waiting.
    ‘I was going to ask you, master, why the Tree of Jesse and this chamber the Star of Bethlehem?’
    ‘I told you.’
    Corbett slipped his arm through Ranulf’s. They walked under the gatehouse across the bridge and on to the trackway which wound down through the trees towards the village. Corbett loosened his white collar. The day was autumnally warm, the trees shedding their leaves to lay a crisp, golden matting beneath their feet. They stood aside to allow a pack train by, horses whinnying at the scent of blood from the deer carcasses, throats cut and bellies gutted, which had been slung across their backs. The blood-daubed verderers and foresters were in good humour. It was not yet noon and they had only been hunting since dawn to provide fresh meat for the royal kitchens.
    ‘You were going to say, master?’ Ranulf wished Corbett would not lapse into reflective silences.
    ‘Well, now we are free of the palace, I’ll tell you. Everybody’s lying, Ranulf. Now, when I lay in my great four-poster bed at Leighton, being fussed and spoilt by Lady Maeve, I still received reports from spies, merchants, pedlars, tinkers and scholars.’
    ‘You said they provided nothing but chatter! Gossip from the village well.’
    Corbett shook his head. ‘Most of it was. However, I say this, Ranulf, if I had to stay in that bed for another day, my wits would have wandered. Now, don’t misunderstand me, I love Lady Maeve more than life itself. And, as for Eleanor, well, you know how it is?’
    ‘And Lady Maeve is expecting again?’ Ranulf asked.
    ‘As full as a rose at midday.’
    ‘A boy this time?’
    ‘A living child is all I pray for. Now, my mind is like any other, you have to keep sharpening it. I know de Craon would have found out about my injuries and probably prayed for my death. We are approaching an exciting time, Ranulf. An English heir is going to marry a French princess. Philip of France is going to see his dream realised, that a descendant of his great ancestor St Louis will sit on the throne at Westminster. Edward wishes to break free. If he does, there will be bloody war. So, I listen to my spies, one in particular: Aidan Smallbone, a lonely clerk from the King’s own secret chancery.’
    ‘But I thought . . .’ Ranulf interrupted.
    ‘Yes, I know! I hold the Secret Seals. Such messages should come to me, but there’s one verse of Scripture our King truly believes in: he does not like his left hand to know what his right hand’s doing. Accordingly, certain messages, certain documents, go directly to him. All Master Smallbone does, when they are finished with, is place them in a secret muniment room. Edward is always present when he does that. Anyway, Master Smallbone is a friend of mine. He sent me a letter asking about my health, expressing a desire to see me, and that means he has something to sell.’
    They entered the Tree of Jesse, where the taproom was sweet with the smell of hams and haunches of venison all being dried smoked and cured against the approaching winter. The landlord greeted Corbett, bobbing and bowing, and led them up the wooden stairs. Ranulf found the Star of Bethlehem a disappointment. It was a large room, well furnished, but the